


Beginnings

by shieldivarius



Series: Femslash Takeover 2014 [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 2014 takeover, F/F, Femslash February, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started after New York, when Natasha couldn't get a break from the rumours circulating S.H.I.E.L.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

It started after New York.

Natasha didn’t mean to withdraw, but even if S.H.I.E.L.D. thwarted the initial attempts the media made to catapult the “Heroes of New York” into the limelight—or at least protected herself and Clint from it all—they couldn’t protect her from the gazes of her colleagues.

Few stared outright, of course. _Some_ professional courtesy still existed, and some of them even remembered they still had jobs to do.

At least, they remembered until the first of the action figures started being released. The toy companies knew a redheaded woman had been involved in the battle, but lacked good images of Natasha’s likeness—thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.—which only meant they had complete creative control and the artistic license to do whatever they wanted (they could have made her toys blonde, for all Natasha cared).

And they’d used their creative license, and given Natasha an action figure with a flashy belt and an impractically long mane of hair. She didn’t care. Clint was the only one who teased her about it to her face, and with the slow rate of his recovery, she welcomed those moments.

But the glances didn’t go away. The action figures were scattered around base. And she was tired of people trying to make small talk with her that inevitably came around to the topic of the Chitauri.

So she withdrew. She started spending less time in the operations levels when she wasn’t required to be there. Not that Natasha had ever been particularly involved or prominent on campus, but she knew she was on her way to becoming a ghost.

Clint didn’t notice, until he did.

“Go down to Administration,” he said one day. They were sitting on opposite ends of the same couch in his apartment, her with her feet in his lap. She gave him a sceptical look. 

“Why?”

“You remember May?” 

“What about her?” They’d met, even interacted enough for Natasha to put a face to the name, but Natasha had been fresh to S.H.I.E.L.D. and May had been an agent in her prime, until a mission gone bad that had led to her transfer. Legends circulated about May, cycling around the Academy divisions and growing bigger by the year.

“I think you should talk to her.”

So that she didn’t _become_ her, he meant. She pressed her foot into his thigh.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clint.”

“I know,” he said, and he delivered it with a brilliant enough look, even though he rolled his eyes, that she believed him. “I know, but she doesn’t give a shit what you’ve done, and you need that.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. He dragged a finger across the bottom of her foot and she twitched, but didn’t kick him, even if he deserved it. He raised his hand again and held it over her foot when she didn’t respond.

“I’ll go.”

 

Clint Barton’s mind overflowed with bad ideas, but he’d learned how to read her years before. So, even if he made a routine of jumping from buildings before ensuring he had an anchor in place, Natasha trusted his opinion on the situation.

Still, a week elapsed before she let herself believe that there was no casual way to approach an agent she barely knew and still come off genuine. Then two more days passed before she actually had the time to take a trip down to Administration.

The Administration levels didn’t see anywhere near the amount of action the other departments of S.H.I.E.L.D. saw, and Natasha imagined that was why Melinda May had chosen to be relocated here. Silence sat heavy in the halls, as though the walls themselves absorbed any sound, and even the sound of Natasha’s heels striking the tile below her feet seemed more muted than it should have been.

She’d asked for a bit of direction before setting off down here, so she knew which floor and wing to look for May in, if not the room. That was fine. Once she reached the wing in question, she entered into a room with a maze of low cubicle walls, half of the lights turned off because it was outside of business hours.

Blue light glowed here and there, emanating outward from the in-use computer terminals. She tapped a knuckle in a light knock against the top of the nearest occupied cubicle. The man sitting there gave her an annoyed look but recognition didn’t appear in his face when he glanced at her. That was a relief.

“I’m looking for Melinda May,” Natasha said when the man when back to his computer monitor instead of asking her what she wanted—or even who she was. He lifted his hand from the keyboard long enough to point through his monitor and then went back to whatever he was doing.

Natasha followed the direction to the next active terminal, and then the next without stopping for directions a second time. Melinda May sat filling out a paper form in the third occupied cubicle. May looked up as soon as Natasha stopped in the walkway, parallel to her desk. A brief thrill of tension tightened the lines of May’s blazer before she relaxed.

“Yes?” May asked.

Natasha hesitated. She actually hesitated, and it probably had something to do with the surety in May’s stance, the comfort in her surroundings and the absence of the dreariness of the others Natasha had seen down here. It was at least in part a play to hide her immediate reaction, but Natasha was interested all the same.

“My name—“

“I remember who you are, Agent Romanoff,” May said. Their voices seemed loud in the office, and Natasha didn’t think anyone cared enough about their conversation to be paying attention to it, but she knew they could all hear. 

She offered May a little half smile. “This might seem strange, but can I invite you for coffee?”

“It does seem strange. Why?” May returned.

“I was hoping for a lesson or two on dealing gracefully with sudden renown.”

May’s eyebrow slid up. “As opposed to infamy, I take it,” she said.

Natasha let the same tiny smile touch her lips again. “That’s it exactly,” she said. And when Clint Barton was right, he was right. “Would you be interested?”

“There’s that independent café on the corner. Tomorrow evening, it’s a date,” she said, and offered a smile equal to Natasha’s before turning back to her work.

A little thrill ran through Natasha’s stomach, and she smiled and returned the way she’d come. 

 

It started in New York, in a battle that spread like wildfire through news networks around the globe. It continued in New York, in a tiny independent coffee shop with seating for ten, and Natasha sitting with Melinda at the table furthest from the door. The foam of their lattes had been covered in wispy brown leaves, and no one had recognized Natasha yet thanks to the angle Melinda sat at to block her.

May understood, and the conversation flowed between them long after the advice for dealing with their colleagues at S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer the topic. 

“It’s late,” Natasha observed when the barista started cleaning out the espresso machine. The place had to be closing. They’d been there for hours and no one had said anything.

May touched Natasha’s hand, just a brush, but too deliberately to be an accident. “I know somewhere else,” she said.

Natasha smiled. “Yours or mine?” she asked, cutting to the chase. And if May hadn’t been expecting the forwardness, she recovered quickly enough that she didn’t show it.

“Don’t you live on base?” 

“Yours it is.”

The barista flipped the sign on the door to “Closed” and snapped the lock shut as they left.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 Femslash Takeover January prompt: Beginnings. It's very late. Like a month late. Shh.


End file.
